


The Real Julius

by graytheglowinggay



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Autism, Autistic Amy Santiago, Autistic Jake Peralta, Autistic Raymond Holt, Bad Parenting, Because It's B99, Case Fic, Character Study, Gen, Hate Crimes, I Made Myself Cry, Mercy Killing, My First Work in This Fandom, Original Character Death(s), Some Humor, They're All Autistic, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 18:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12687579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graytheglowinggay/pseuds/graytheglowinggay
Summary: The Nine-Nine investigate the death of an autistic child. Some things hit a little too close to home.





	The Real Julius

“Greetings, Detectives,” Captain Holt said. “Yesterday we received a new case. The victim: 13-year-old Julius Moss. The cause of death: carbon monoxide poisoning. He was found in his mother’s car by one Nicholas Turner. He saw Moss inside the car and broke through the window with a tool he carried in his car. Turner took Moss’s pulse, but he was already dead.”

“Who’s the suspect?” Jake asked.

“There isn’t a suspect. This was simply an act of neglect by a caretaker. The case simply needs to be filed, for consistency’s sake,” Holt replied. “Dismissed.”

The detectives left the briefing room.

“Captain, may I see the case file?” Amy asked.

“Certainly,” Holt replied. “If I may ask, what is your interest in it?”

“I just want to look at the case file,” she replied.

“Very well.” He handed her the folder. She walked over to her desk.

Captain Holt entered his office and closed the door. He closed the blinds and turned off the lights. He sat down in his chair and clasped his hands together. He sat in the dark, in the silence, for many interminable moments.

* * *

 

“Jake, have you seen Amy?” Terry asked.

“Haven’t seen her since the briefing,” Jake replied.

“Do you think she went to her smoking spot?”

“She might’ve, but nothing’s happened lately that would cause her to be that stressed.”

“Still, could you check? I like to know where my detectives are at all times.”

“Okay, Mama Hen.”

Amy thought that none of the other detectives knew where she went to smoke, but she was very bad at hiding that secret. However, they let her keep that area private, as a place where she could let herself be vulnerable.

“Hey, Ames, what’s going—”

Jake expected her to be standing and smoking. Maybe even sitting and smoking. Certainly not kneeling, covering her face with her hands, the pages of a case file scattered around her. Jake picked one of them up. The marks of teardrops marred the page like bullet holes.

The phrase at the top of the page hit him like a punch to the gut.

_The victim, Julius Moss, had been diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder._

* * *

 

Jake read over the rest of the page, and the other pages that were out of the file. He read the entire case file. His brain still echoed the words: The victim had been diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder.

He sat down next to Amy. The two of them didn’t say anything, just leaned into each other. Amy took her hands away from her face and propped her head on Jake’s shoulder. Jake could tell that she was crying. He, too, felt tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“Do you want to go talk to Holt about this?” Jake asked.

Amy nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again.

“Are you sure?” he asked again.

Amy nodded.

* * *

 

Jake knocked on the door to the Captain’s office.

“Enter.” came the reply.

He and Amy entered the room. Jake closed the door behind them.

“Santiago, Peralta,” Holt said, giving each detective a nod of acknowledgment.

“Why didn’t you tell us that the victim was—” Jake couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “That the victim was—” It felt like the word was caught in his throat. He took a deep breath. “Was—”

“That the victim was autistic?” Holt said, “That information wouldn’t be of any importance to our role in this situation. We’re merely acting as record-keepers.”

Jake opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Amy blurted out, “What if Julius’s death wasn’t an accident?”

Holt raised one eyebrow. “You mean to imply that a mother would murder her child?”

“Under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t dream of leveling such an accusation. But, things like this have happened in the past. Parents have killed their disabled children because they see them as a burden.” Amy said.

“Or as a mistake,” Jake added under his breath.

“Though incidents such as these may have occurred, there’s no indication that there was intent to harm behind Cheryl’s neglect. Accidents happen,” Holt replied. “If you’re still not convinced, protocol requires us to interrogate the primary suspect, which in this case is Cheryl. If you wish, you may choose to be the detective who does so.”

* * *

 

Amy and Jake stood shoulder-to-shoulder behind the one-way glass, watching Terry interrogate Cheryl Moss. Amy’s hands softly flapped at her sides. Occasionally, her fingers would brush against Jake’s leg. Every time they did, Jake would look at her, and Amy would smile, to show him that she was fine. Jake clenched his hands into fists. His nails pressed against the skin of his palms.

“Mrs. Moss,” Terry said.

“Oh, please, call me Cheryl.” she interrupted.

Terry smiled. “So, Cheryl,” Terry continued. “I’m sorry that we have to bother you with this, but it’s standard procedure.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she replied. “Easier than having to do anything with a lawyer. Certainly cheaper, too.” After that last sentence, she laughed.

“Let me say, on behalf of this entire precinct, we are sorry for your loss,” Terry said.

“Well, he’s in a better place now,” she replied.

“And why is that?” Terry asked. He smiled again, but Jake could tell it was forced.

“He was suffering so much here on Earth. What little potential he had was trapped within an unresponsive body,” she explained.

_The only thing that was trapping him was you,_ Jake thought. He dug his nails into his palms, relishing the painful sensation.

“Unresponsive?” Terry asked.

“He was such a happy baby. Smiling, always wanting to be picked up. Then, one day, it all stopped. He wouldn’t look at anyone. He didn’t smile. All he did was arrange his blocks into the shape of a square. Six by six, that’s how large it was. When he was finished, he would take it apart and start all over again.”

Terry forced his face into a sympathetic shape. “I have some detective stuff I need to get done, but I’ll have one of my colleagues help wrap this up.”

“That’s no problem,” she replied.

Terry exited the interrogation room and entered the observation room. “I need one of you two to take over for me. I wasn’t lying about the detective work, but I just can’t keep listening to her.

“I’ll do it,” Amy said. Jake elbowed her. “What?”

“Ames, that’s a terrible idea,” Jake whispered to her. “You and I both know that you’ll fly off the handle at her.”

“Like you’d do much better,” Amy replied. “You have no filter whatsoever!”

“We’ll both do it, Sarge,” Jake said. “That way we can both keep each other under control,” he whispered to Amy. Amy shot a harsh look back at him but said nothing.

“Then you’ll need someone to stay in the observation room,” Terry replied.

“Oh, we can find someone to do that,” Jake said. He saw Captain Holt walking across the bullpen. He walked over to the door and opened it. “Hey, Captain! Can you just, like, observe for us?”

Holt looked at Terry. Terry shrugged. “Very well. I will ‘just, like, observe’.” he said. He entered the observation room. “Quit standing around, go talk to her.”

* * *

 

Jake could swear that he had drawn blood in the palm of his hand.

He and Amy had to listen to Cheryl Moss talk about all of her son’s problems in a way that made them seem more like they were her own. She had not once talked about what he liked to do or what he enjoyed. The only strength of his that she had named was “he was quiet”.

Jake wanted to kick his legs around under the table, but he knew that Cheryl would notice such a behavior, and certainly think negatively of Jake because of it. Amy must have thought something similar. She hadn’t flapped her hands once since they entered the interrogation room. Instead, she kept them on her lap, not moving them at all.

Amy’s voice was stiff as she asked the routine questions. Jake barely talked at all. He knew that if he wasn’t careful, one word could open the floodgates. Eventually, they got through them all. They told Cheryl that she was free to go.

On the other side of the one-way glass, Holt sat in a chair and stared. He had long since ceased to pay attention to the proceedings on the other side. He bit at the inside of his right cheek until he could taste blood.

* * *

 

Jake didn’t feel right when he got home from work that night. He wanted to say something to Amy, but none of the words that he thought of were ones that he could form into a complete sentence, let alone enough for a whole conversation. He felt like he had left his words behind at the Nine-Nine, and he wasn’t going to find them until morning. Until he was angry again.

Amy could tell that something was wrong with Jake, but something was wrong with her, too. _He was suffering here on Earth_. Those six words burned a hole in her gut, in her heart. She wanted to step outside for a smoke, fight fire with fire, but she had promised Jake that she wouldn’t smoke at home, and she wasn’t going to start now.

Holt moved through his evening routine with a guarded rigidity. He found no comfort in the varied activities; his thoughts were still on that day’s case. Kevin noticed. Decades of nights like this one had taught him to know when work haunted the man he loved. After dinner, Holt sat on the couch, hands on his knees, unmoving. Cheddar, sensing that something was wrong, leaped up onto the couch and curled up on Holt’s lap. Holt petted the Corgi with slow, measured motions. Kevin sat down on the couch next to his husband, close but not touching. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, all the words came spilling out.

* * *

 

As soon as Jake got to work, he went to Captain Holt’s office. He entered without knocking, something he would never have dreamed of only a day prior. But, he needed to say something. He needed to do his job.

“Detective Peralta, why the hell do you think it’s okay to burst into my office like that! Something better be on fire if you’re interrupting me without warning like this.” Holt exclaimed.

“Captain, do you know of anyone else that was close to Julius?” Jake asked.

“There weren’t any other close relations listed in the file,” Holt replied.

“Well, how about a school? A therapy place? Anything?”

“Why do you need this information, Peralta?”

“Because I am almost certain that Cheryl Moss killed her son,” Jake said.

Holt stood up out of his chair. “That is a serious accusation, Peralta. Do you have any evidence for your claim?”

“Not much, yet, but that’s why I need to find a second person to talk to. You heard her responses yesterday. She basically said that her son was better off dead, just because he was autistic!” Jake replied.

“Just because she said this doesn’t mean that she wanted to kill him,” Holt replied.

“The current charge against Mrs. Moss is involuntary manslaughter, correct?” Jake asked.

“That would be correct,” Holt replied.

“Involuntary manslaughter, in this case, means that through negligent action, the accused caused someone to die. This is the idea that Mrs. Moss simply forgot to turn off the car,” Jake explained. “However, if we can prove that she intended to cause harm to Julius, thus making the action voluntary, she would have committed murder.”

“And how will finding another contact help your case?” Holt asked.

“Because adults say things in front of disabled children that they would never dream of saying if they knew they were listening.”

* * *

 

Holt had given Jake the address of one Francis Griffin, a close friend of Julius’s. Amy was busy working with the information they had gotten from Mrs. Moss, so Jake had taken Charles with him because Jake figured that he would be a much less intimidating option than Rosa.

“Frankly, Jake, I am disgusted by this whole affair. What kind of mother would ever do that to her child?” Charles exclaimed once Jake had explained what was going on.

“A real bitch of a mother, that’s who,” Jake replied.

Jake didn’t say anything as he drove to the Griffin’s house. Charles, on the other hand, made it very clear how he felt about Cheryl Moss. It didn’t take long for them to get there. The two of them walked up to the door and Jake rang the doorbell.

A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, presumably the girl’s father, answered the door.

“I’m Detective Peralta and this is Detective Boyle, we’re with the NYPD. We’d like to speak with your daughter.” Jake said.

A young girl ran over from inside the house and looked out from underneath her father’s arm.

“Detectives want to talk to me?” she asked.

“Are you Francis Griffin?” Charles asked.

“The name’s Griffin. Francis Griffin.” Francis replied.

“Could we come inside?” Jake asked.

* * *

 

Mr. Griffin had led Jake and Charles into the living room. He offered the two detectives drinks and chips, which they both gratefully accepted.

“Detectives are cool, even cooler than spies,” Francis said.

Jake smiled at that comment. _Damn right we’re cool_. “Tell us about your friend Julius,” Jake asked.

“Ju-Ju was awesome,” she replied. “Ju-Ju’s what I call him. He liked it because it was silly.

“What made him awesome?” Charles asked.

“We always played games together at school,” she said.

“What kinds of games?”

“Spy games. One of us would sneak around and try to get something that the other one was hiding,” she explained. She started kicking her feet against the couch. “His mom was mean, though.”

Jake and Charles looked at each other. “What do you mean by that?”

“Ju-Ju told me about the mean things his mom would say about him to her friends,” she said.

“What kinds of things?” Charles asked.

“I don’t remember any of them,” she said sadly. “You might be able to find some of them on her mommy blog, though.”

“Mommy blog?” Jake asked.

“It’s where she writes about being a mommy. I heard that she’s really mean on it,” she replied.

Jake mentally pumped his fist up and down. Now, they might have a chance at finding actual evidence.

“Thank you, Francis,” Jake said.

Instead of replying, she hugged him.

* * *

 

As soon as they got back to the precinct, Jake told Amy about their experience with Francis, including the mention of the “mommy blog”.

“That’s great, Jake!” she said. “But, how are we going to find the blog?”

Jake thought for a moment. Then, he had an idea. He typed “Cheryl Moss” into Google. The first thing that came up: her Facebook page. In the bio? A link to her “journal of motherhood”.

“Bingpot,” he said.

He scrolled to the most recent post. It had been posted five days ago. It had no title. He read it.

_“I am so sick of J’s antics. He won’t eat anything, and when I force him, he starts crying. Kid, that’s just how the world works.”_

The rest of the post was a rant about Julius’s eating habits, so Jake skimmed over it, but the last sentence caught his eye.

_“You’ll probably never read this, but to the real Julius, if you’re out there: Mama’s coming for you.”_

The next post was similar. No title, started with her talking about Julius’s inability to take care of himself, and ended with another heartfelt note to the “real Julius”. One post stood out to him, though. There were no long paragraphs, just a video with the caption, “this is my life”. Jake hit play. Immediately, he started hearing screaming. The word “no”, repeated over and over again, almost unintelligibly. Over the din, he heard a woman’s voice.

“Why can’t you do anything right?” it exclaimed.

“Quit crying!” it exclaimed.

“It’s just a fucking toy car!” it exclaimed.

Jake stopped the video.

He walked over to Holt’s office. He knocked on the door, just once. He heard Holt tell him to enter. He opened the door, and as soon as it closed, he fell to his knees.

“Cheryl Moss killed her son,” he said.

“I know,” Holt replied.

* * *

 

Cheryl Moss was convicted of murder in the first degree, but this couldn’t bring her son back. It did nothing to resolve the fear and shame that Jake kept within himself. It wouldn’t break down years and years and years of malice and maltreatment. It wouldn’t even cause people to say “never again”. That would take dozens of other Julius Mosses. But, it brought justice to the death of one autistic boy, and that was all it had to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is my first B99 fic, and this is much more angsty than my usual fare. I just had a lot of anger that I wanted to channel into something, thus, this was made. Also, I wrote this in about 5 hours, so that's kind of impressive. Also, friendly reminder that this kind of thing does actually happen in the real world, and you should be angry about it. If you want to help, please donate to ASAN (Autism Self-Advocacy Network) or other groups like it that are by autistic people, for autistic people. Never Autism Speaks though. Thank you for reading.


End file.
